


To the Letter

by Lysical



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13463904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysical/pseuds/Lysical
Summary: No killing.Jason did promise to follow Batman’s all-important rule, but that didn’t mean he had to allow it to shackle him. After all, sometimes rules allowed for greater creativity.The phrase ‘a fate worse than death’ existed for a reason.





	To the Letter

**Author's Note:**

> The result of some swirling thoughts regarding Jason's allusions to his less than stringent adherence to the No Killing rule and the result of the first RHatO Rebirth arc. Fairly disconnected from my other work aside from general continuity setting. 
> 
> Not in the least bit edited.

Waking up in a dark, dilapidated warehouse was the first sign that signaled to any Gotham criminal that Lady Luck had abandoned them to their fate. At best, they would find themselves face to face with the Batman and gain a few new injuries in the process of being terrorized into coughing up whatever information the Dark Knight sought. The end result: prison, a sullied reputation and perhaps a few new enemies—the Bat never wanted to know harmless information. As good as a death knell, sometimes, but at least the Bat would leave them alive with a chance.

Much worse, to wake up and find the Joker or another of Gotham’s infamous psychopaths. Best to start praying immediately and hope the end came quick. 

In between, a criminal could find themselves encountering any of Gotham’s multitudes of vigilantes and mobsters, from the Bat’s flock of birds to any of the up-and-upcoming gangsters that was making a play to more power. To be in the wrong place at the wrong time was more than just a cautionary tale, but instead a very real reality. 

Most Gotham criminals either thought the risk worth it or had little choice. The higher up the scale they went, the more the rewards seemed worth the risk. 

Such was certainly the case for Phillip King, a man who held a comfortably high-ranking position in the Riley crime family. Drugs, arms dealing, trafficking—he had an extensive criminal record that had seen him in and out of Blackgate on a frequent basis for several decades. Even for such an experienced member of Gotham’s underworld, regaining consciousness after being knocked unconscious with a steel bar was disorientating. It took King several minutes to gather himself enough to assess his surroundings. 

There wasn’t much to see; the warehouse was empty save for a few scattered chairs and tables and some wooden crates stacked against the walls. No natural light filtered through the boarded up windows, King only had the dim, garish yellow of a single lightbulb to see by. It was enough for him to clearly make out two things; the blood that covered the floor, and the man that sat backwards on a chair several feet away, arms folded across the back. 

It was enough to see the red helmet and the near glowing white visors of his captor. 

King chuckled and spat on the ground. “The Red Hood, huh?” 

The chair Red Hood was sitting on creaked as he leaned forward, propping his chin on his folded arms. “You’re finally awake, _huh_? I was getting tired of waiting.” 

“Hurry on with it, kid.” King rolled his eyes, shifting in place and grimacing when the tight rope around his body rubbed against rapidly forming bruises. “We all know the Bat has you on a leash these days, and the Bat don’t allow killing. Your threats are just words, and I can take a beating.” 

“You’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you?” Red Hood reached up and released the catch at the back of his helmet, sliding it off his head and tossing it carelessly to the ground. It bounced several times against the concrete floor, echoing through the warehouse. “All that macho confidence, that’ll be fun to tear apart.”

“I’d like to see you try.” King tested the ropes that tethered him to the chair, but with little hope of success. Sometimes people made mistakes, even professionals, but Batman’s people made less than most. “You’re just like all the rest of the flock now you aren’t running around, guns blazing. Really bought you to heel, didn’t he?” 

The Red Hood was paying little notice to King’s taunts. He had his head tilted towards the ceiling and tapped idly at his chin, giving an impression of mock-seriousness. “That is a thought. Do I pluck your eyes out at the start, or would blindness be a blessing if given too soon?” 

A hypothetical, casual question, but it drained some of King’s ease and confidence away, unbalanced him enough to look at Red Hood with wary eyes, gazing at a predator instead of a pest. “I heard you were a nutjob. Running into town and stealing the drug trade out from under Black Mask, crippling his empire, decapitating heads. You must be the Bat’s rabid dog.” 

Red Hood glanced down, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t decapitate a head.” 

King blinked. “What?” 

“You decapitate a person.” Red Hood shoved himself up off his chair and began circling King slowly, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “A head is just a head. What’s to decapitate? I mean, I could try, if you want. It’ll probably just end with cutting your nose off, though.” 

King clenched his jaw, staring resolutely ahead. “This the latest in Bat mind games? We all know the lot of you are all bark.” 

“Y’know, I told him that when I was a kid.” Red Hood stopped behind King’s chair. “But he’s stubborn. He just kept doing things his way, and he never appreciates it when others try to do it their way, you know how it is, you’ve got a boss.” 

“Tremble before the terrible Red Hood,” King muttered. “You really expect to keep your reputation, running home to Daddy like that, doing everything he says?” 

Red Hood laughed. “You might think that. He might think that. I don’t really care what either of you think.” 

“You the rebellious one of the brats, then?” 

“Y’know,” Red Hood said, circling back around to the front of King’s chair and crouching in front of him. In one hand he was idly twirling a knife. “You’re the most entertaining scumbag I’ve tortured in a long time.” 

King’s chin jerked up minutely. 

Smirk widening, Red Hood stopped twirling the knife and shrugged. “I like to be frank about these things. If you’re going to hell, might as well wave cheerfully at the Devil and make friends on the way down.” 

“Nice try, but I know how you people play this game.” King’s eyes remained on the knife despite the bravado that coated his words. “I wasn’t making any big moves, you nabbed me for information on someone higher up. You aiming to take down the Riley family, Hood? Hate to break it to you, but they’re laying low after the last time the Bat dropped in.” 

“’Nice try’.” Red Hood rolled his eyes. “Nah, Phillip, I don’t give a shit about any of that. I found where you hid the bodies of the kids.” 

King wilted in his seat, confidence melting away under the force of Red Hood’s gaze. It was common knowledge that to harm children was to stoke the fire of Red Hood’s rage. During the period of time that Red Hood ran the Gotham drug trade, the consequences for dealing to children became well-known. Cloying doubt began to grasp and pull at King, shaking his assurance and testing its foundation. 

Red Hood straightened from his crouch, standing to his full height. All traces of amusement were gone from his expression, leaving only focus. “Any last words, or shall we move straight to the screaming?” 

Another hypothetical question. Red Hood gave King no time to answer. 

—

The next time King regained unconsciousness, he was in a great deal more pain and missing several body parts. Woozy from blood loss and shock, he struggled to gain full awareness, head lolling from side to side as he took in his surroundings. Perhaps understandably, he had a lot less to say. 

Red Hood watched him dispassionately from the same chair he’d been in originally. “You were out longer than I expected. Well, it was my first castration. Learning curves are to be expected.” 

The criminal could only give a weak groan from his place on the ground. One of his arms twitched, rising from the concrete floor, only to drop back down as King caught sight of the cauterized stump where his hand had previously been. 

“Actually, you’re right,” Red Hood said, in a light and airy tone. “Maybe it was doing the amputations straight after. I should have factored in the extra stress that would put on your body.” 

When it became clear that King was beyond responding, Red Hood abandoned his chair to kneel at King’s side, bringing his blood-stained knife close to King’s right eye, ignoring the weak protest. 

“Stop moaning, you’re going to live.” Red Hood grimaced. “Unfortunate as that is. But here’s the deal. I’ve taken the opportunity to ensure you literally can’t touch another kid again, but y’know, I don’t want a single kid to even have to suffer your presence walking the same streets of this town. You’ve been in and out of Blackgate so much, I figure you need a little incentive to make it stick. Now, I’m going to make sure you get to a hospital, get all the help you need to keep clinging to your waste of a life. In return, you’re going to confess, and you’re going away. For good. You even try to buck either of my two incredibly simple requests, and I’ll come for you.” 

Red Hood paused, pulling the knife away and wiping the blood off on his sleeve. 

“If I have to visit you again, I’ll walk you exactly three steps outside Gotham and execute you like the waste of fucking space you are. Crow all you want about big bad Hood being leashed by Batman. I follow the letter of the law and only the letter, and only for as long as I want. Don’t fucking tempt me, you scumbag.” 

King gave a hoarse moan. 

“Oh yeah.” Red Hood snapped his fingers. “And I’m still taking your eyes.” 

 


End file.
